


Embers

by carrotycake



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen, Jedi, SWTOR, it's getting gayer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7275106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrotycake/pseuds/carrotycake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the very beginning, Jedi Knight Ramilla was no ordinary Jedi. Of course, some dismissed her as so. She knew better. She is the embers of a fire not yet lit, the hero waiting in the wings; this is her story. SWTOR Jedi Knight class story, told in drabbles. Multiple POVs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Origins

_I exist as I am—that is enough;_  
_If no other in the world be aware, I sit content;_  
 _And if each and all be aware, I sit content._

_\- Walt Whitman, 'Leaves of Grass'_

* * *

 

**3643 BBY**

The old Jedi Master sighed as he leaned back in his seat in the speeder taxi. He was tired; so tired. The war against the Empire was never-ending. Jedi were dying at an alarming rate. And he had an old injury on his knee that neither the Force nor kolto seemed to be able to heal. Anger and pain were everywhere he looked, everywhere he could see.

However, there was peace on Onderon, for the moment, which was where he was situated. For once, he was dealing with an issue that _wasn’t_ war-related. It was just a shame he couldn’t stay any longer than he needed to. Jedi didn’t get military leave, but it would be nice.

“That’s us arrived, Master Jedi. Can’t take you any further, I’m afraid; no civilian vehicles are permitted beyond this point,” chirped the taxi driver, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Master Edrim Yull shrugged, and leaned forward to drop some credits into the man’s hand.

“I’ll be fine to walk. Thank you,” he said, exiting the vehicle and striding out onto the landing pad. For the first time, he took in his surroundings. He was standing outside a very large and grand-looking apartment block, buildings stretching up all around him. Clearly, this was a wealthy part of town.

 _Oh, no._ The rich ones are always the hardest to convince, Edrim thought to himself, grumbling as he half-strode, half-limped toward the address listed on his datapad. He knew he was attracting some funny looks, but he had long since reached the point where he cared. He supposed the number of Jedi Masters and/or Nautolans seen on Onderon were rare, and couldn’t really blame the civilians for staring. The Force had led him here, and he would just have to follow it.

Although, _stars_ , that child’s link to the Force was strong. He had felt it landing on this planet, and he knew that he had made the right decision.

As he made his way toward the building, he put away his datapad, knowing that he wouldn’t need it. Edrim could have found his way blind, if he had to. It was like a rope, pulling him towards the apartment on the south-facing side of the building, into a large, spacious lobby and up six floors in the turbolift. Finally, he stood outside the door and composed himself, attempting to give himself an aura of calmness and peace.

He knocked on the door. It opened, a sliver, but not enough for him to see a full face.

“Yes?” The voice was suspicious; not a good start. However, he must be polite. _Need to remember that._

“Good afternoon,” he began, smiling serenely, “My name is Master Edrim-”

“You’re a Jedi,” the voice, a woman’s, hissed accusatorily. “The Jedi are here!” she shouted behind her, “The Jedi have come to take my baby! They’re here to kidnap her! The Jedi-”

The door shut with a slam. Edrim sighed, and decided to wait. Surely, the damned woman must have more to say. A hint of Force persuasion wouldn’t go amiss, in the circumstances…

“Excuse me. Master Jedi? I do apologise.” The door had opened again, wider this time, and it was a human male who answered. “My wife is…very protective. Please, do come in.”

Edrim bowed, his head-tendrils swaying, and walked into the apartment. It was very spacious, with a ceiling-to-floor window on one side that allowed the sun to stream in, showing off the view of the city and the lands beyond. The man standing before him seemed to match the apartment; he was well-dressed, but not overly so, and gave off an aura of humbleness that – in this particular Jedi’s opinion – so many nobles lack. Because this man was most definitely a noble: he could see it in his eyes, his Force aura, the way he stood.

“I am Ormil Famir,” he said, spreading his arms, “Advisor to the King, here in Iziz. We…have anticipated your arrival for some time,” he said, gesturing for the Jedi to sit down.

“You have?” That was unusual; most parents had no idea their children could become Jedi. It was, he observed dryly, a fate not many parents would want for their offspring.

“Yes. Our little girl…Ramilla…she is very strong in the Force. It runs in our family – well, we seem to be able to sense the Force, but not manipulate it. Does that make sense?” Ormil asked, frowning. Edrim nodded.

“There are many instances of this happening. I am glad you understand why I am here. Your wife guessed my intentions very quickly.”

Ormil looked slightly embarrassed. “Ah. Yes. My wife does not share my gift for sensing the Force. She does not understand why our daughter has to go, although I have explained.”

Edrim spread his hands in a gesture of empathy. “Most parents do not understand. It is perfectly natural.” Which was true; he had seen his fair share of resistant parents. It wasn’t pleasurable to part children from their parents, but it was necessary to ensure the survival of the Jedi Order.

The noble sighed. “Yes. I understand. It does not make it any harder to bear, though.” He paused, rubbing his brow. “I will go and fetch my daughter. It is her you are her for.”

He got up, and disappeared into another room. “Suna? Where are you? The Jedi would like to see Ramilla…”

Eventually he returned, looking irritated. A small woman with a sour expression on her face followed him, glaring at him – and her husband – with extreme malice. He stood up as mark of respect for the woman – Suna – and was about to introduce himself properly to her but, again, she beat him to it.

“You’re not going to take her!” she said, pointing a finger at his chest. Ormil frowned at his wife.

“Suna, we have discussed this. She would be much better off with the Jedi.”

“I do not believe that,” she spat, turning on her husband, “We live a comfortable life. You serve the King. We have security and wealth, here. Ramilla could grow up to be anything she wants to be.”

“Or anything _you_ want her to be.” Ormil muttered, folding his arms. “Besides, you barely even look after the girl – you make the nanny droid do all the hard work, and claim the finished result as your own!” He looked to Edrim for support, as his wife looked dangerously close to hitting him. Edrim quickly intervened.

“The path of a Jedi is not a restrictive one,” he said, emphasising the calm in his voice, “If, in time, your daughter wanted to leave the Order, she could leave. We are just teaching her to use the skills she has been born with.”

“Let the Jedi see Ramilla,” cajoled Ormil, as Suna folded her arms. “She could become a great Jedi, if we let her. What if, when she is grown, she asks why she has this power but cannot use it? Will you be to blame if she is unhappy? At least, as a Jedi, she can choose her path. Let the Jedi see her,” he repeated, this time a little more forcefully.

Suna sighed, and frowned. She turned to the Jedi.

“It seems I have been overruled. I will let you see her. But that is all.”

With that, she walked away, and disappeared into another room. The Jedi Master was beginning to wonder if it was even worth it. His diplomatic skills were rusty, and he had never enjoyed diplomacy to begin with. Republic Senators were easier to deal with than this woman.

“I apologise again,” said Ormil, shaking his head. “She is a very difficult woman, even at the best of times.”

Edrim smiled humourlessly, but said nothing. This was personal; nothing to do with him.

Eventually, Suna returned, dragging behind her a very small infant girl. Edrim wasn’t as familiar with human ages and development as he was of his own species, but the girl looked no older than maybe two or three standard years. Very young, in other words. She had short red-brown hair and pale skin, similar to that of her parents, and the little silver hairpiece that she wore matched the one in her mother’s hair – a mark of nobility, clearly. Her eyes were also a very rich, dark brown, and were currently staring at him with some trepidation. She shuffled behind Suna’s legs, but Suna sighed and pulled her forwards, pushing her out in front of her.

The young woman glared at Edrim, as if her daughter’s shyness was his fault. “This is Ramilla.”

Edrim bent down on one knee, level with the infant, and smiled. “Hello, Ramilla. My name is Edrim.”

The girl turned around, looking to her father for support. Ormil nodded gently, and Ramilla turned back to face Edrim, holding her hands behind her back and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Hi,” she said, and then “You look funny.” She giggled, putting both hands over her mouth. Edrim felt the corners of his mouth lift. _Well, perhaps this isn’t so bad._

“Well,” he replied, “I _am_ a different species to you, Ramilla. My species look different to yours.”

 “Species. Hmm.” She cocked her little head and sat down on the carpet as if he was about to tell a story.

“She seems to like you,” commented Ormil, gazing at his daughter with some fondness. Suna made a disgusted noise.

“Pah. She does not know anything. She is still young, and stupid. She will not make a good Jedi.”

“With all due respect, that is not your area of expertise,” replied Edrim coolly, still looking at Ramilla. She was gazing back at him intently, her eyes alive with curiosity.

“Not my-? You insult my intelligence, Jedi.”

Edrim dipped his head. “As you insult mine, ma’am. I have been a Jedi for longer than you have been alive, I suspect.”

He reached out a hand and gently touched Ramilla’s forehead. Closing his eyes, he felt through the Force her growing curiosity, and her eagerness to learn. Even more, he felt the Force flowing through her like a river, strong with currents surging and flowing, filling her with life and power that she didn’t even knew she had. It was like a beacon of light in the cold, dark world that Edrim considered the galaxy nowadays to be. She possessed an inner strength that he had never seen in such a young child before. _Yes, this was the one._ She would grow to be a strong Jedi, Edrim was certain.

He opened his eyes and stood up, clasping his hands behind his back, facing the two adults. Ramilla looked up at him in alarm and shuffled over to her father.

“Ramilla will make an excellent Jedi, one of the best,” he told them, even though they would not understand. “The Force is strong in her, and I am not one to deny the will of the Force.”

Ramilla cocked her head. “Je-di?” she asked Ormil, tugging at his sleeve. The noble sighed, and picked up the girl.

“Yes. The Jedi are the protectors of the Republic, Ramilla. Do you want to go and learn how to be a Jedi?”

The girl frowned in concentration, and looked at Edrim. “Like him?”

Ormil nodded. “Like him.”

The Jedi cleared his throat, knowing that what he said next would be a mere formality. “I would like your permission to take Ramilla to the Jedi Temple and have her trained in the ways of the Force. I have the authority to take her regardless, but I feel this way is better.”

“Whose authority?” demanded Suna, pacing angrily and glaring at him. Edrim sighed.

“The Galactic Republic’s,” he replied tiredly, “The Jedi are, after all, the protectors of the Republic and all it stands for. I suggest you take it up with them if you have a problem.”

He was no diplomat, and he never would be, and he knew that was probably slightly too sarcastic a remark for the way of a Jedi Knight.

Still. The woman was insufferable.

“I am not happy about this,” she hissed, “I will not see my daughter again. Foul, loathsome Jedi!”

With that, she turned and left the room, the doors sliding shut behind her. Ormil sighed in resignation.

“I give my permission,” he said, placing Ramilla gently back down. “It is not a fate I would have chosen, but then, that is beyond me now.” He knelt down beside his daughter and took her little hands in his. “You’re going to go away with this man, now. He is going to take you somewhere safe, where you can learn to be a Jedi.”

“Me, Jedi?” said the girl, looking confused. “You come too?” she asked, looking at her father expectantly. His face fell.

“Ah, no. But don’t worry, my dear. We’ll see each other again.” He smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead. She reached out her chubby arms and embraced him, her eyes screwed shut. Ormil caught Edrim’s eye, perhaps wanting reassurance, but Edrim only shook his head. It was unlikely the two would see each other again. There was no point in pretending otherwise.

“Goodbye, my daughter,” said Ormil, standing up and patting Ramilla on the head. “You will make the most wonderful Jedi, I hope. Now, go with this man. And make sure you do what you’re told. Do you understand?”

Ramilla blinked, her eyes wide. “Goodbye,” she said, becoming very solemn for a moment. “Goodbye, pa.”

Edrim bowed in respect. “Thank you,” he told the noble, and he meant it. There was something about the girl, who was now clasping his hand tightly. He couldn’t quite place it, but he knew that there was something different about her. Different from all of the other Jedi he had recruited over the years. Perhaps this girl – Ramilla Famir, daughter of the advisor to the king of Onderon and soon-to-be Jedi – would be the one to end this war, not one of the endless diplomats and speakers and Senators that he had encountered.

He made his way, child in tow, back down the stairs of the apartment block and out onto the pedestrian courtyard. Edrim looked down at the girl as they walked, and noted how there was no fear, no…hesitance on her little face. She wasn’t crying, or whining, as so many human infants do at that age. Just a calm kind of composure, one that Edrim would occasionally see on very senior Jedi Knights – which, given the current political climate, was very rare.

Yes, he was certain he had made the right decision. He would take Ramilla to the Temple, and she would make one of the finest Jedi he had ever seen.

 

 

 


	2. Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramilla Famir, Jedi apprentice, arrives on Tython to meet her new Master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suddenly realised that when I started crossposting fics from my FF.net account, I didn't post the 2nd chapter of this! Sorry bout that. It's here now! Hope you like it :)   
> Just a reminder also that if you have any questions about my OCs or just anything star wars-related, you can find more over on tumblr, the links are in my bio.

Ramilla Famir woke with a start, unintentionally hitting her head on the bottom of the bunk above her.

“Ouch,” she muttered, rubbing her temple ruefully. In truth, she hated space flight, and the claustrophobic living space that came with it. She lay back down, sighing, and wondered why her dreams had been so occupied with that particular moment of her life recently. Always that same time, watching her parents fade away into the distance, knowing that she would never see them again. The memory itself didn’t bother her; she was a Jedi, after all, and knew that such foolish sentimentality would lead to the dark side. It was the memories of her parents that came _after_ that particular one that bothered her: she had tried so hard to repress them during her teenage years, but they kept resurfacing, like a nasty rash.

Perhaps, if she had a Master, she would be able to talk to someone about it. But she did not, which was precisely the reason she found herself in an official Jedi shuttle, heading to Tython.

Yes, she hated space flight. _If only it wasn’t so damn cramped_ , she thought, swinging her legs out of her bunk and dressing quietly in the dark. It wasn’t like there were lots of people on the ship, invading her personal space (another one of her pet peeves); the shuttle was empty except for the piloting crew and herself. She just found the general atmosphere of ships to be cramped, all tight corners and low ceilings.

Ramilla was just looking forward to _not_ being on a ship, to _not_ have to breathe recycled air and to _not_ have to eat processed, synthetic food for weeks on end. Because it had been weeks; coming from the Outer Rim, there had been no choice in the matter.

She padded quietly out of her room and took a wander up to the cockpit of the shuttle, with the intention of enquiring how much of the journey was left, or see if she could be of any assistance. However, when she approached the door leading to the cockpit, she heard voices in a heated discussion, and decided to linger outside before making her presence known.

“…I don’t know about you, Tam, but I find her unnerving. It’s creeping me out, having her on board.” That was the co-pilot, Jinn. Ramilla had noted that the woman usually went out of her way to avoid her, and had barely spoken two words to her since Ramilla arrived on board.

“Well, it’s not as if we have any choice. In case you hadn’t noticed, we fly shuttles _for the Jedi_.”

Ramilla recognised the voice of the pilot, Tam. He was the friendlier of the two, but he was still fairly reserved and seemed to keep to himself. When Ramilla was around, anyway.

“Yeah, I get that. I don’t mind Jedi. They’re an alright bunch, I guess, with their funny weapons and weird religious stuff. It’s just – _her_. She’s different. I don’t like her.”

“You don’t like many people, Jinn.”

“I know. But she – the girl – I dunno, it just creeps me out. Have you noticed that she never shows any emotion? Like, any? At all? She’s just a mask, I can never tell what she’s thinking. Most Jedi I’ve met _smile_ at least. That girl? Nothing. It’s not natural, Tam, I’m telling you.”

“Well, Jedi aren’t supposed to be all emotional, Jinn. That’s why they’re so good at being diplomatic and neutral about stuff. But…” Ramilla could feel his hesitation through the Force, and it worried her.

“But what?”

“I’ve been doing this job longer than you have. I’ve heard rumours about this one. Well, I think it’s this one. You can never be sure…”

“Oh, spit it out already! We’ll be arriving soon, and then we won’t get the chance to gossip.”

“Fine. I did hear from another Jedi I was transporting once…”

Ramilla decided that she didn’t really want to hear what he was going to say, and stepped forward, the cockpit doors opening with a _swish._ She could feel the two pilots’ surprise through the Force, and it gave her a tiny bit of satisfaction that she had interrupted their gossiping. Nodding respectfully at them, she stepped forward and tried to smile.

“I just came to see how much longer we had to go until we arrive.” _There. You can’t say I didn’t try to be friendly._

Jinn merely stared at her with incredulity, while Tam rolled his eyes at his companion and checked the navicomp.

“Another half hour, and then we drop out of hyperspace. Don’t worry, you’ll be off this ship in no time.” He returned her attempt of a smile, and turned back to his piloting. Ramilla took that as her cue to leave, and left the cockpit without another word. She could have pulled rank and reminded them who pays their wages, and how she doesn’t deserve their rudeness, but she wasn’t that sort of person. Instead, she settled herself into one of the chairs in the communal area, and tried to distract herself from the rumble of the engines coming out of hyperspace by meditating quietly.

The images from her dream swam in front of her; her parents, Onderon, Master Edrim. She’d liked Master Edrim – he was friendly, if a little gruff, and had been a source of comfort in her early days of training. She would have liked to be his apprentice, but he had perished in the Sacking of Coruscant, along with so many others, before she was old enough to become his apprentice.

Ramilla thought back to her first proper Master, a human male of indeterminate age and race who always looked at her coldly, as if she was constantly living below his expectations. Master Gerish had been a fair teacher, and Ramilla had learned much under him, but his apparent belief in the Jedi rule of ‘detachment’ led to some unfortunate consequences.

The Padawan shook her head, ridding herself of the memories. _Breathe,_ she told herself. _There is no emotion. There is only peace._

She repeated the mantra in her head, over and over, until she felt more relaxed again. Well, as relaxed as she could be on board a ship. The rumbling of the engines faded in her ears to a low hum, and she closed her eyes, feeling the Force flow through her. The feeling raised her spirits, and she felt confident enough to push away the disappointed faces of her parents, to let them wash away in a wonderful tide of _nothingness_ that she didn’t experience very often. It was…peaceful, for once.

A few minutes later, Ramilla felt herself jolt out of her meditation by a loud and irritated voice over the intercom.

“Approaching Tython now, Jedi. ETA five minutes. Better make sure your stuff’s been cleaned out of that bunk, or else you won’t see it again.”

Ramilla fought the urge to roll her eyes, and went to her cabin to pack away what little possessions she owned: her training saber, a spare set of robes, and various datachips that she’d accumulated from past missions and assignments. She quickly checked her reflection in the refresher, knowing that she probably _looked_ like she had been stuck on a spaceship for three weeks. She adjusted her hairpiece back into place – somehow, it always ended up going squint – and left the ‘fresher, making her way down to the departure bay.

The hairpiece was the only thing she carried that suggested she had been something else before she was a Jedi, although to most it was just another accessory. She could be vain and say that she wore the hairpiece because it looked pretty, but in reality it was more than that; she – Ramilla Famir – was a Jedi, first and foremost, and no amount of sentimentality or family values were going to come before that.

“ETA one minute. If I find a lightsaber, I’m keeping it. Just saying.”

“Shush, Jinn. Give the girl a break.”

Ramilla smiled tightly, feeling her good humour ebb slightly at the comments. She could be a good Jedi, and say that nothing ever fazes her but that _would_ be a lie, and Jedi do not lie. Ramilla was not a sensitive soul and could brush off most things, but some harsh comments just _hurt_ , plain and simple.

She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck distractedly. That sort of behaviour was what had denied her Knighthood for so long. Her last master had declared her ready for the trials when she was seventeen, but the Council had expressed concern at her emotional state. _Too much emotion_ , they’d said. _Dangerous. Leads to the dark side. Come back when you’re at peace, Padawan._

So that’s what she had done. She had trained, across the galaxy, honing her lightsaber skills and her meditation skills and tried to scrub every last bit of emotion out of her. It had worked, mostly. Four years, and she knew she was ready now. And she certainly wasn’t going to let one cruel, ignorant comment get in the way of her future.

“Approaching Tython now. We’ve just received word that one of the Knights will meet you at the Master’s Retreat, so we’ll drop you there. Happy hunting, Jedi.”

The intercom cut off with a sharp hiss of static, and Ramilla knew she was on her own. Happy hunting, indeed.

 


	3. Saviour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramilla makes an unusual friend.

Ramilla thought that she would never tire of the scenery in Tython. The hills and the mountains were, tonight anyway, bathed in a murky orange light, the sun casting rays that stretched far across the rocky landscape.

_If only there weren’t so many Flesh Raiders to ruin the scene,_ she lamented, panting as she swung her training saber and cut down yet another beast. Some of them could even use the Force, and that was worrying. She was starting to feel nostalgic for the early days of her time on Tython, where the Flesh Raiders were only armed with blasters and the point-and-shoot routine.

The area was temporarily cleared of Flesh Raiders, but she knew that more would return if she stayed there for too long. Right now, the sun was setting, and if she didn’t get back to the temple before nightfall she would be unwittingly letting herself in for even more dangers that even _she_ didn’t want to think about. She stumbled along the faded paths, saber drawn despite her exhaustion, and almost lost her footing as she tripped over a large bundle of cloth sitting in the middle of the track.

“What in the world...?” she muttered, turning to look at what she had tripped on. She would have avoided it if she wasn’t so tired, blast it. Ramilla was also duly surprised when the bundle moved, making a sort of growling noise.

Reaching out a hand, she cautiously moved some of the folds of cloth, attempting to get a closer look. The bundle rolled around, still growling, and Ramilla caught a glimpse of pink skin and beady, black eyes.

_Shavit. It’s a Flesh Raider._

_A baby one, though. It can’t do any harm, right?_

_Flesh Raider. It’s in the name._

_But it’s hungry, look! Look how it’s wailing. Just a baby, Ramilla._

Ramilla wrestled for a while with her conscience. She was fairly certain that there was nothing in her Jedi teachings which would tell her about the ethics of leaving Flesh Raider infants to die. It was still growling, although the longer Ramilla listened, the longer it sounded like unhappy mewling. Perhaps it _was_ hungry. Right. She would give it some food, and then leave.

“Here,” she said, pulling a ration bar out of her backpack and throwing it at the baby, “Have this.”

It devoured it in no time, its many sets of teeth – which seemed quite, _quite_ well formed to Ramilla –gnashing away at the protein bar. Still, it somehow managed to grin – _grin? –_ at Ramilla, which made her smile, just a little bit. If you squinted, the thing was almost...cute. Her mind ticked as she remembered overhearing one of the Jedi Masters in the temple cafeteria talking animatedly about studying Flesh Raider infants.

_“They would be absolutely fascinating to study, if you ask me! After all, they can’t be_ born _that vicious, can they? It’s only a shame that we can’t get close enough to their encampments to even get a glimpse of their nurseries. They’re obviously very protective of their young.”_

It was a terrible idea. She _knew_ it was a terrible idea. But...she didn’t want to let it starve. It seemed quite helpless, as it couldn’t walk on its stubby legs yet. (She watched it try.) And if it helped Master Quilb and the Jedi Council find out more about the Flesh Raiders, then surely that was something?

Sighing, she stooped and picked up the bundle, grimacing as it squirmed in her arms.

“Look,” she told it, “I’m trying to help. Have another ration bar.” She gently squeezed the bundle into her backpack, leaving the bag open so the thing could breathe. “There’s some meat in there too. Eat that.”

The thing wriggled in her bag, and Ramilla sighed. She still had a long walk back to the Temple, and the light was fading quickly. It wouldn’t exactly help her situation to be caught in the dead of night, alone, in the middle of Flesh Raider territory. Carrying one of their infants, no less.

Sometimes, she surprised herself. She had gained a reputation over the last few years – since her initial rejection from the Council – as a cold, unreadable force of nature. An unfair assumption, she thought, but perhaps not entirely unfounded. Ramilla had never found it easy to get along with others; it was much easier, sometimes, to just stay silent and get on with the task at hand. She suspected this was the reason for being held back at the trials: what use was a Jedi who couldn’t forge connections with others? The sole purpose of the Jedi order was to serve and protect the galaxy, but if you weren’t able to get along with people then your purpose was almost rendered useless.

She had hoped Tython would be a new start for her – after so many second chances, this was her time to finally change things. Deciding that it had had enough of Ramilla’s pondering, the Flesh Raider infant squealed loudly from her bag. She tried to shush it, worried that its cries would attract the attention of the very monsters she was trying to avoid.

“Shh – please, be quiet!” she whispered, attempting to calm the infant, sending relaxing vibes through the Force in a last-ditch attempt to stop its wails. Much to her surprise, the infant simply grumbled softly and closed its eyes, causing Ramilla to smile, slightly. There. Maybe she was getting through to someone. Even if that ‘someone’ was a mewling infant born from an enemy currently trying to kill the Jedi.                      

***

Several hours had passed, and it was almost pitch dark. Ramilla’s feet were aching – although she had the advantage of the Force, even the strongest Jedi get tired sometimes. The damned infant had eaten all of her food supplies, and she’d had to resort to scavenging and hunting wild animals to stop it from yowling and attracting more Flesh Raiders.

“I hope,” she panted, “That you realise...how much effort...I’m putting in for this...” They were on the final stretch now, according to Ramilla’s holomap, and she could see the outlines of the temple in the dim twilight.

The infant merely grumbled mournfully, wriggling awkwardly in Ramilla’s backpack. She rolled her eyes, and sighed. “Well, we’re almost there. I’m sure Master Quilb will be able to feed you when we arrive.”

Ramilla ignored the slightly alarmed faces of the Jedi stationed outside the Temple as she made her way up the steps. She realised that she must look quite a state – she had been out in the wilds of Tython all day. She’d almost forgotten what she had gone out for in the first place.

Her once-clean robes were soiled with dirt, dust, and if you looked closely, blood. She had acquired several new burns on her face and arms from where she had only just managed to deflect blaster bolts. Overall, it wasn’t what one would expect the Order’s best and brightest to look like.

Eventually, she found Master Quilb standing at the foot of the stairs that led to the Council Room, studying a datapad absent-mindedly. She walked up to him, a determined expression on her pale face.

“Master, could I have a moment of your time?” Briefly, she explained her findings to the Master, whilst brushing dust off of her robes.

“Well, well, well!” exclaimed the Cathar, smiling. “It seems you have a penchant for knowledge as well as combat, Padawan Ramilla. I’ll take this youngling to the research station here on Tython and see what we can learn from it. You’ve outdone yourself, my dear.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “All of the Jedi I spoke to on these matters laughed at me. They said it was too risky, a fool’s errand. I am glad you could prove them wrong.”

Ramilla smiled at the praise. “Happy to help, Master.” She bowed and turned to leave, but hesitated. “Will, um...”

“Yes?”

“Will the infant be harmed at the research station? I mean, will it be, uh, looked after?” She tried not to let the worry show on her face. For all that she’d been wanting to get rid of it, she had grown quite fond of the little thing on her journey back to the Temple.

Master Quilb chuckled. “Don’t worry, Padawan. I’ll make sure it’s well cared for at the research station.”

Ramilla nodded, trying to hide the relief she felt.

“Of course. Thank you, Master.”

With that, the older Jedi bid his farewells and left her standing at the foot of the stairs. For a moment, she stood there in silence, contemplating. There was much still to be done, and Bengal Morr was still at large. She should probably have a shower and get some sleep if there was going to be any chance of defeating him.


	4. Sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kira Carsen learns something new about her Jedi friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this a VERy long time ago (3 years maybe??) and with a completely heterosexual worldview of things. how Wrong I was honestly. but anyway, i re-discovered this piece the other day and thought it might be nice to finally post it!
> 
> obviously it's jumping a bit since the last chapter, but this story presumes that you're familiar with the JK storyline on SWTOR anyway :) as always, comments and kudos are much appreciated!!

It took Kira Carsen a surprisingly long time to discover that her Jedi companion was an insomniac. She had been blissfully ignorant of her staunch new Master’s sleeping habits until one night in hyperspace, a few days before they were due to land on Taris. Kira herself had been sleeping restlessly that night; eventually she had given up trying and stepped outside her cabin for a moment. Padding quietly up to the flight deck, she had decided to check on the navicomp, just to see how far they were to their next destination.

However, someone appeared to have beaten her to it.

Kneeling on the floor of the cockpit – _the floor? Why was she on the floor?_ – was Ramilla Famir, the one Jedi that Kira had never quite managed to figure out. Her eyes were closed, head bowed, her dark brown hair fluttering loosely around her chin. As soon as Kira entered the cockpit, the atmosphere changed, becoming thicker and more…turbulent, almost. She wondered what must be going on in Ramilla’s head for it to affect everything else on the ship.

“Hello, Kira. Couldn’t sleep?” Ramilla seemed unaffected, and indeed unsurprised by Kira’s appearance. Kira, on the other hand, was rather taken aback by the whole situation.

“No…well, yes, I – what are you _doing_?”

“Meditating,” she replied, without opening her eyes. Kira frowned, feeling irritated.

“Don’t you ever sleep?”

Ramilla blinked, her eyes opening and focusing on Kira. “Ah. Not much, to be honest.”

It was then that Kira noticed the heavy dark circles under her eyes. The Jedi looked truly exhausted, and suddenly very vulnerable. She suddenly felt bad for her irritation.

“How long has it been since you last slept?” she asked, this time more softly. Ramilla stood up, brushing herself down.

“Um. Three days, maybe? Could be four. They all blend into one another when you’re in hyperspace. But the Force is with me. It’s fine.” She smiled, slightly, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Kira’s frown deepened, her irritation with the older Jedi fading somewhat.

“Yes, but you’re still a person. Humans need sleep too, even Force-sensitive ones. I don’t want you getting all cranky due to lack of sleep when we’re on Taris,” she said, “We’re gonna need all the energy we can get, by the sound of things.”

“Well,” said Ramilla, lightly, “I think I’d rather be tired than be faced with Darth Angral in my head all the time.” She shook her head, as if ridding herself of bad memories, and sat down in the pilot’s chair. Kira stared.

“You mean – you’re _choosing_ to stay up like this?”

Ramilla looked at her, really looked, and Kira could suddenly see the pain and the anguish behind those eyes. “Does it sound like I have a choice? I can’t sleep, Kira, because if I do, I just see Angral and Tarnis and all those other Sith Lords. They-” she broke off, swallowing, “They taunt me in my dreams. So many deaths…I’ll be responsible for so many deaths if I fail…”

The Jedi rubbed a hand over her forehead, and turned away from Kira towards the navigating computer. Kira shook her head. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing; this, coming from the Jedi who had defeated Bengal Moore, Lord Tarnis, hundreds of Imperials… This was the Jedi who had stood up to Darth Angral and told him, without hesitation, that she _would not be hiding_ when – not if _–_ he came after her. But now? Now, she just looked like any other young woman faced with a death threat. Afraid.

Tentatively, Kira being unused to this sort of thing, she placed a hand on Ramilla’s shoulder.

“Not just you. I kinda helped with the whole defeating-Tarnis-thing, too. I’m pretty sure Angral wants my head as much as he wants yours,” she said, grimacing inwardly as she said it. It really wasn’t the most sympathetic or understanding thing she could have said, but Ramilla seemed to appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

“Yeah. You’re probably right,” she sighed, smiling weakly at Kira. “We’re both screwed, then.”

It was a terrible attempt at humour – Kira seriously doubted her Master’s ability to joke – but they both cracked up, giggling softly in the cockpit. The humour was a welcome relief to the seriousness of the past few months; Sith here, missing superweapons there. Sometimes, there was just no time to catch a break. Not that that was the point of being a Jedi. But, still. Laughing just felt good, sometimes.

Ramilla shook her head and sighed, the ghost of a smile still playing around her lips. She reached forward and attempted to type some commands into the navicomp, only to have red letters come back at her, accompanied by a lot of beeping.

“Uh…Master…” That definitely didn’t sound good. Kira watched as Ramilla swore loudly and frantically typed in some extra commands.

“Oh, stang. I just – ugh…” Ramilla’s voice trailed off and she glared at the dashboard, her usual calm exterior breaking for a moment to show a – very normal, Kira thought – frustrated young woman. She reached over to try and give her a hand.

“Master, that’s not – you should try…”

“I…what? Oh…”

Ramilla obediently stood up and let Kira fix the problem. It was a simple one, really; Ramilla had typed in the wrong command and the navicomp was threatening to shut down on them. Problematic if that actually happened, but for Kira, at least, it was easy to fix. The beeping subsided and the screen flashed back to green. Ramilla coughed, embarrassedly.

“I hate flying,” she muttered, glowering at the navicomp.

“Why?”

Ramilla shrugged, “Bad memories. I don’t – never mind. It doesn’t matter.” She folded her arms and sighed again, looking out of the viewport. Kira could see the Jedi drawing up her guard again; it had slipped, briefly, when they had laughed together, only to be thrown back up again by her simple mistake.

A tuneful whistling was soon heard behind them by way of distraction, and they both looked around to see T7 rolling happily into the cockpit.

_< T7=finished upgrades// T7=happy to see Jedi// Jedi=happy to see T7?>_

Ramilla smiled, her torment ebbing a little in the Force. “Always, T7. What brings you here at this time?”

_< T7=hear Jedi talking// Jedi=nocturnal?>_

“Apparently,” muttered Kira, shaking her head in amusement. The droid never failed to make her smile with its little observations. The droid muttered something unintelligible in droid-speak, then rattled back and forth on its chassis excitedly.

< _T7=look out for Jedi// T7 scanning=Jedi need sleep// Jedi + sleep=ready to save galaxy! >_

Kira snorted, but then looked at Ramilla and sobered. “T7’s right, you know. You don’t…you don’t need to shoulder all that responsibility. Just remember that, okay?”

The older Jedi nodded, some of the tension draining from her. “I will. Um – Kira?” she asked, as the Padawan turned to leave the cockpit, “Thank you. It’s nice to have someone – on my side.”

_On her side?_ Kira gave the elder Jedi a half-smile. “No problem, boss,” she said, as she left the cockpit. Ramilla’s words echoed faintly in her ears.

_It’s nice to have someone on my side._

When did Ramilla _not_ have anyone on her side? She was a Jedi, after all. She’d saved Padawans on Tython from the Flesh Raiders and defeated a Sith on Coruscant. The phrase confused Kira greatly, and she went to bed feeling none the wiser about her new master than she had when she woke.


End file.
